


A Small Thank You

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And feels, M/M, There's smut, a night of cigars and alcohol, cigar knowledge tried and tested by the author, many feels, no angst though, on which two people slowly realise they can't live without the other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Mycroft invites Greg to an evening of cigars and spirits as a small thank you for looking after Sherlock. The evening can only end one way...





	A Small Thank You

Mycroft hasn’t been sure if his invitation would be accepted. It came a bit out of the blue, if he was honest. Even for him. Sure, there had been a few dinners before, but it had all been rather formal. For him at least. Greg has been a joy to be around, at all times, even if Mycroft has never been able to relax completely. He has realised, over the last months, that he wants to share more casual moments with the man. Found himself cracking stupid jokes just to see him laugh. But in public he feels - as always - unable to let himself go. He hopes that in his own home, he’ll find the courage to search Greg’s eyes for a sign of reciprocated feelings… even if it is only a hint.

It’s entirely not like him to feel nervous, as he positions a few items on the low table near the fire. He arranges the glasses so that both of them will be expected to sit next to each other on the sofa, and not in separate armchairs. It would perhaps give the evening an air of additional sophistication, with both of them in armchairs, around the fire, facing each other, but Mycroft longs to be closer to Greg, feels himself shivering just thinking about the accidental touches that could occur. Not for the first time he wonders when his appreciation for Greg Lestrade has turned from fondness into something that sits deep inside his chest and warms him with every thought about the man.

Still, at the same time he’s afraid. Afraid Greg will turn him away, should he realise. Maybe he isn’t at all interested. Maybe he will never be. Mycroft’s breath hitches as his heart contracts painfully for a second, then he nudges the crystal tumbler so that it aligns with the other, glittering softly in the light of the fire. He needs to show a bit of courage that is so very different form the one he shows in his daily life. It’s easy to construct a wall and let everything bounce off it. It’s so hard to open his heart and make it vulnerable. He strokes the glass that is meant for Greg, and in a moment of weakness, picks it up and brings the surface briefly to his lips.

“What a fool I am…” he whispers against the cool glass.

Then the doorbell rings. Mycroft almost jumps in shock, quickly places the glass back, and takes one last look around the room. He resists the urge to wipe the glass. It would be proper… but the thrill that passes through him at the thought that Greg’s lips would touch the same spot… It’s such a small thing, but it makes his heart skip a beat.

He looks at himself in the mirror before he opens the door. Vain, he knows, but he needs to. His hair is soft tonight, curling slightly. He hopes it’ll make him look more approachable. He wears one of his favourite suits in a dark grey, with a crisp, white shirt and waistcoat with black, hand-carved buttons. No belt, of course, but suspenders. No tie either. Top button open… His hand briefly touches his own neck, wonders if the evening will warrant another button to be opened… or more. Mycroft swallows. No daydreaming now. Greg is waiting in front of the door.

Greg.

He opens it, a friendly smile on his lips. “Good evening, detective inspector. Welcome to my home.”

Greg beams at him, an easy smile in response. “Hello Mycroft. Call me Greg, please. I’d like to leave my title at the door.”

“Greg it is,” Mycroft acquiesces ever so gladly. “Come on in.”

Greg nods and walks behind Mycroft into the interior of the house. The large entrance hall is lit only by a few, yellow-ish lights, making the whole space feel less intimidating. Mycroft knows how it seems to people, who have never been here before. He quickly ushers Greg upstairs, past the portraits that he has still in the hallway more out of habit than anything else, and into his library. As they enter the room and Mycroft closes the door behind them, he can already feel Greg wanting to ask.

“The house has been in the family for a long time. It has now fallen to me. I have changed little of the decor in the hallways… But this is my favourite room, so most of the things in here are actually mine.”

“Mhmm, I can tell,” Greg says as he takes a look around. Mycroft follows his gaze, as Greg’s eyes linger on certain objects. The Victorian telescope at the window, the comfortable armchair, the collection of records next to a record player from the 20s. “No telly?”

“Not here. I… Can you believe I find it a bit too… loud? Too thrilling? It sounds silly, I know.”

“No, no. I get it. I’d rather sit in silence with a good book after a long day,” Greg says and smiles. Mycroft can barely catch himself breaking into a dopey smile in response. “So you said you invited me for a thank you?”

“And you accepted, without even knowing what I had in mind,” Mycroft replies.

“Maybe I just trust you,” Greg puts his hand on Mycroft’s arm in a gesture that could be anything, but Mycroft relishes the contact nonetheless.

“Hm… maybe you should be more careful. Accepting invitations of strange men, following them willingly into their homes…”

Greg laughs. “I think I can handle myself, Mycroft.”

He still has his hand on Mycroft’s arm, squeezing him as he laughs. Mycroft only reluctantly draws back and gestures towards the sofa. “Please, take a seat. I thought I might give you access to my collection as a small thank you for… well, looking after my brother… and my own interests. I feel like I have been remiss in expressing my gratitude in full.”

“Collection?” Greg ears perk up and he shows Mycroft a shy smile. He walks over and sits down on the left side of the sofa, just as Mycroft thought he would.

“I have amassed quite a collection of cigars and spirits over the years. I indulge sometimes on my own, but I find that the right company makes the experience even better. If you allow me, I’ll show you a few of my favourite combinations,” Mycroft says shyly, walking over to a glass cabinet, which he opens after unlocking a special hinge. The aroma of tobacco and moist air washes over him and he takes a deep breath. He loves breathing in the special air of the humidor he had fitted to his cabinet.

“Allow you? That sounds brilliant! I never get to enjoy these kind of things… a bit out of my price range, really.”

“Ah, that’s a common misconception,” Mycroft says as his hand brushes over a few cigars, selecting the ones he finds suitable for this evening. “Of course you buy above a certain minimum price range to assure a quality level that’s needed to properly enjoy the product, but other than that it’s really a matter of taste. If a cigar that costs just 20 is your favourite, why waste a 100? Of course if your preferred one costs about 200, you’re out of luck…”

“I’m assuming you talk out of experience?”

Mycroft smiles to himself, then turns around with his first selection. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

“Sure,” Greg says and his amused smile makes Mycroft’s heart skip. “Now, let me have a glimpse of the good life.”

I’d give you that life every day, Mycroft thinks, hope that it doesn’t show on his face. He sits down next to Greg, hands him one of the cigars.

“This is a Flor de Selva. It’s quite a light one to start with… don’t want to overwhelm you immediately. The format is called petit corona. I’d suggest something equally light to compliment it… maybe a Japanese whisky?”

“Japanese?” Greg asks as he turns the cigar between his fingers, smells it. “Thought you’d touch nothing that isn’t from the UK.”

“Why let misplaced patriotism keep you from what’s good in this world? The Japanese have won many prizes in recent years, and honestly, they have some exquisite bottles.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Mycroft goes to retrieve one of said bottles from a shelf and holds it out for Greg to see before he fills their glasses. “This one is called Tsuru… it’s one of my favourites. It’s light, but sharp. I think it’ll go well with the cigar.”

Greg watches Mycroft in wonder as he handles the bottle, then reaches for both cigars to cut them and shows Greg how to properly light it. As Greg draws his first breath through the cigar, he leans back into the sofa and sighs, closes his eyes for a moment. Mycroft is almost too distracted to light his own cigar, but then he shakes his head and focuses. The aroma of the smoke fills the air around them as both enjoy the silence. Then Mycroft reaches for his glass and Greg mimics him. They toast with a grin and take a sip.

“This is brilliant,” Greg breathes as he lets the aroma of the smoke and the spirit mingle on his tongue. “I knew you’d be brilliant at this.”

Mycroft tries hard not to blush. The low light and the orange glow of the fire might hide it, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. It had been hard to watch Greg take a drink from the same spot he hard pressed his lips to earlier. A flight of fancy… yes, the whole thing was ridiculous, but he already enjoyed himself too much to care.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mycroft says in a low voice and leans back himself, eyes turned forward, and so they sit in companionable silence for a while, both equally glad to just indulge.

The petit corona doesn’t take long to finish, and soon the cigar stumps end up in the crystal ashtray, slowly burning out. They had two glasses of whisky each. Mycroft feels a small buzz run through his veins, isn’t sure if it is the alcohol or Greg’s company. He feels himself relaxing more and more with every single one of Greg’s smiles.

“Next course?” he asks.

“Bring it on!”

Mycroft laughs softly and goes to retrieve the next round, then places both the cigars and another bottle on the table. “This is an Avo. The format is robusto… It’s a bit heavier than the last one, but still not too much, I find. I’d pair it with something that compliments it in strength. Stay with whisky?”

“Sure,” Greg says, his eyes shining as he looks at Mycroft. Mycroft wishes the excitement is meant for him, but it’s probably just for the next cigar. “This is marvelous.”

“I’d suggest a Highland Park, then… This is Dark Origins, but I can also recommend a stronger one, if you like.”

“Why not both?” Greg says and reaches for the bottle, checks out the label.

“I like your way of thinking,” Mycroft says. Maybe the smoke has already gone to his head. Maybe it’s Greg. He retrieves a bottle shaped like a small iceberg. “This is the Ice edition… I’m afraid I’ve polished the Fire one off already… But this one might fit better, anyway.”

“That looks… expensive.”

“I beg you not to think of that.”

“So it is.”

“Just-”

“I’m just teasing you, Myc. I’m thankful for this. Really, I am.”

“Myc?”

It’s Greg’s turn to blush. Mycroft can see it on his ears. Greg clears his throat.

“Sorry.”

“No… don’t be. I’ll allow it… for tonight.”

Greg grins. They return to the process of cutting and lighting the cigars. Mycroft pours two glasses of Dark Origin. Something has changed in that moment, he can feel it in the air. Greg is acutely aware of Mycroft’s movements close to him. But he doesn’t seem cautious… rather, intrigued, if Mycroft is the judge. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Mhmm… I like this one better than the first, if I’m honest.”

“I thought so. Still, I think it’s worth to try different things.”

Greg leans back into the sofa again, this time turned towards Mycroft. He lazily releases a cloud of smoke high into the air and Mycroft cannot look away. The smoke curls around his lips, his nose, drifting off in perfect, white circles. As the air clears, Greg catches Mycroft’s eyes and smiles. Mycroft suddenly feels like he has to look everywhere else but Greg. Wishful thinking. Wishful thinking. Wishful thinking… 

They make meaningless small talk, but Mycroft can’t seem to care. They are smiling, drinking, sharing casual touches, moving closer and closer on the sofa. Greg seems to honestly enjoy himself. Mycroft is so glad. His house, his collection… it could intimidate. But he tries to be open, approachable and it seems to work. Still, with every shared joke his anxiety grows. He doesn’t want to destroy this. What if he makes a move and Greg is… appalled? The chance is small. Probably he’ll just laugh it off, make it better. But it’ll always linger between them. He takes a deep breath. The second round of cigars is more or less done. He sips the last of his whisky, puts down the stump.

“Join me for a bit of fresh air before we try something unconventional?” he says and keeps his tone light… just a bit teasing.

Greg’s eyes widen a fraction before he nods, puts his own cigar remnants away and stands up… a bit too quickly. Mycroft grasps Greg’s arm and steadies him as he sways, and they suddenly are in each other’s arms, faces too close together. Closer than they’ve ever been. They are frozen for a moment, then Greg detaches himself.

“Sorry. These things always go to my head.”

“Don’t apologise. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. I’m good. I definitely have room for unconventional,” Greg says and smiles.

They walk towards the balcony doors, and out into the cooler night air. The small balcony overlooks a walled garden. From here you can see into the other properties, but most windows are dark. The moon is shining on this May night, but in the city you can’t see many stars. As the wind picks up, Greg leans against the railing and takes a deep breath. Mycroft stands next to him, leaning with his back against the metal, elbows on the top. He leans his head back and looks into the night sky, clouds shifting in front of the moon.

“Hmm, this is good. Clears the head,” Greg says. “Seems like we’re the only ones still awake.”

“Most of the houses here are second homes. My neighbours are rarely home. It’s a quiet neighbourhood.”

“God… to have property like that and not use it. Seems like such a shame.”

Mycroft hums in agreement, but in the back of his head he’s listing the houses the Holmes family owns… and feels a bit like he’s lying, so he adds: “I often stay in my flat on Pall Mall during the week. It’s closer to work… Sorry. Am I turning out too much like one of these rich bastards?”

Greg lets out an amused chuckle. “You’ve always been a bastard. Rich, poor, doesn’t matter.”

Their eyes meet and both burst out into laughter. It feels easy, comfortable. For a moment, Mycroft is completely at ease with himself, with another human. He marvels at Greg’s ability to make him feel so unguarded.

“Didn’t mean it as an insult,” Greg adds as they’ve calmed down.

“No offense taken,” Mycroft replies, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Come on then, let this bastard fill you up with some more alcohol.”

“A capital idea.”

In a moment of daring, Mycroft places his hand in the small of Greg’s back and steers him back towards the door. He feels Greg tense for a moment, then relax into the touch. He doesn’t know why he did it, but now he’s glad. It feels almost intimate, for a moment, but then they’ve entered the house again and Mycroft turns to close the doors as Greg retires to the sofa. A few minutes later, there are two new cigars and a few additional bottles on the table. Greg makes a comment about decadence, but he leans forward, eager to see what Mycroft has brought.

“A Room 101 cigar for the finish… It’s a limited edition, made by a tattoo artist, corona format. I don’t usually go for these, but I found this particular one quite refreshing. It shouldn’t be too heavy on your head.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Mycroft smiles. “And to pair it with, we’re going for unconventional. To offset the bitterness of the cigar, we have a port wine, a honey liqueur or a rum. Your choice.”

“Oh, wow. I’ve never had anything sweet with a cigar.”

“I hope you like it. I find a nice port goes very well, but you might be particular to the rum.”

“Riise… Never heard of them. And you say it’s sweet?”

Mycroft nods. “Not all bottles they have are sweet, but this one is very much so. The rum, then?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

Soon Greg leisurely sips the golden liquid from his tumbler, half-lying in his seat, eyes closed in apparent bliss as he takes another drag of smoke. Mycroft enjoys the vision too much to interrupt him, so they sit in silence for a while. He can see Greg stealing glances at him when he thinks Mycroft isn’t looking. Mycroft notices every single time. And he’s not only looking at his face, but many other, interesting parts of his anatomy too. It takes everything in him to not rush through the cigar, knowing it’ll make him positively lightheaded if he does. But as it’s burned down to its last third, he places it down.

“A cigar changes taste over time,” he explains as Greg eyes him questioningly. “If you feel like you don’t enjoy the rest anymore, the worst thing is to force it. Put it down and let it burn out. It’s supposed to be an enjoyment, not a chore.”

Greg takes another mouthful of smoke, then puts his end down as well. Suddenly, with nothing to do, the silence between them grows heavy. Mycroft knows that Greg will want to leave soon. It’s late after all. But he doesn’t want him to go. He wants to-

“Mycroft?” Greg asks softly, his hand on the sofa between them. Mycroft looks up to see Greg look at him, unsure, eyes wide. Those brown eyes, which he can get lost in.

“Yes?” he asks, hates that his voice is wavering.

“Thank you so much for this. I really enjoyed myself. You’re excellent company.”

Mycroft can only nod, his throat constricting. Is it the alcohol? He suddenly feels very close to water... 

“There’s something I wanted to ask you. Why did you invite me here, after all this time? Why not another dinner?”

Mycroft swallows. This is it. Time for the truth. If not now, then… He takes a deep breath and places his hand over Greg’s between them. “I’m… oh god… Please don’t run away,” he whispers, the spirits in his blood giving him liquid courage, making it easier to speak. “I’m terribly fond of you. Have been for a while. I thought if we weren’t in public…”

He stops speaking as Greg grins. He stops breathing as Greg leans forward and brings their lips together in a chaste kiss, that nevertheless ignites all his senses.

“I’m glad we’re not in public. Otherwise I couldn’t do this,” Greg says softly and brings his free hand up to Mycroft’s cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. “I only hope this is what you meant as well.”

“Oh Greg,” Mycroft says and his voice breaks, as well as his restraints. He closes the gap between them again and brings their mouths together - this time in anything but a chaste kiss. He fists his hands in the fabric of Greg’s shirt and draws him closer, closer… They almost topple over, but then Mycroft crawls into Greg’s lap, pressing the man into the cushions, snogging him as if his life depended on it. And in a way it does.

They part after a few minutes, breathless and both hopelessly aroused. Mycroft knows he must look awful - hair standing in all directions after Greg has run his hands through it, cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused, but Greg looks at him as if he’s never seen anything more beautiful in this world.

“Mycroft. Fuck. Take me to bed. Please. I’ve been keeping myself from jumping you for hours.”

Mycroft makes a strangled noise at the realisation that his feelings were shared and stands up, pulling Greg with him. Both of them sway a little, but it doesn’t matter. He takes Greg’s hand and leads him with quick steps to his master bedroom, which luckily is only two doors down the hallway. As he sees his bed, he has a little moment of crisis, but then Greg’s arms wrap around him from behind and he feels lips insistently sucking on his neck. His body flushes with warmth and he pressed himself into Greg, moaning shamelessly at the sensation. Greg places his mouth next to Mycroft’s ear.

“Please fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Mycroft gasps, shivers, turns and wraps his arms around Greg. He stares into the other man’s eyes for a second, before Greg presses their erections together, and even fully clothed, Mycroft has to close his eyes at the jolt of pleasure this brings.

“Let me ride you,” Greg whispers and attacks Mycroft’s neck again.

“Oh god, yes. Everything you want. Everything,” Mycroft breathes. 

They stumble towards the bed, almost falling over, and suddenly they can’t get naked fast enough. Both are too intoxicated to wait any longer. There will be time for slow and gentle later, Mycroft realises with a start. Greg will sleep in his bed tonight. They will wake up together, tangled, naked. The thought makes him pause, only to be brought back into the present by Greg’s fingers on his waistcoat. He looks down and sees that Greg has already removed all of his clothing. This vision alone snaps him back completely. Greg grins at Mycroft’s gasp as he realises, and helps him get undressed in record time. 

Mycroft can barely enjoy his unclothed freedom, before he’s pushed back, onto the bed. Greg stalks him, crawls over Mycroft’s body and brings their cocks together. With a hand around both, he starts rutting against him, and Mycroft can only react, throwing his head back in pleasure, fisting the blanket.

“If you want me… fuck… inside you… you need to stop…” he manages between gasps, which are torn from him involuntarily, and he almost regrets saying that, as Greg does indeed stop, smiling down at him with a guilty expression.

“You’re too delicious,” he says with a grin that should be illegal. “Where’s your lube?”

“Bedside table, left side. Don’t look so surprised. I’m only human.”

“Noted.” Greg grins and Mycroft can only roll his eyes. How is it that he manages to joke, even now? How does he feel so completely at ease doing so? Nothing feels forced between them, everything is surprisingly natural.

Mycroft has no time to contemplate this further, as Greg returns with the liquid and proceeds to coat his cock without ceremony. The squeeze of his hand, and the motion makes Mycroft groan, wanting to close his eyes, but he can’t look away. As Greg positions himself over him, he reaches up and stills the man briefly, with questioning eyes.

“Don’t worry, I love the stretch. I want to feel you. Just go slow.”

And before Mycroft can say anything, he starts lowering himself ever so slowly. With every inch, Mycroft becomes gradually more unable to breathe. The vision of Greg above him, head thrown back in rapture as he impales himself on Mycroft’s cock is something that should be painted, really. It’s art, pure and simple. He reaches out and puts his hands on Greg’s thighs, stroking him gently as he makes the final push and then lets his whole weight drop.

“Fuck,” is the only thing Greg manages to say at first, and Mycroft is inclined to agree with him. “You feel so… oh my god… You feel so good. I can’t wait. I can’t hold it. I’m sorry.”

Mycroft had thought Greg might need a moment to adjust, but then he starts moving, immediately setting a fast rhythm. He puts both hands on Mycroft’s chest, supporting himself as he pants heavily, eyes shut in concentrated enjoyment. Mycroft can only lie there and take it. He feels like Greg is using him to get off, and somehow that thought makes him even harder, as he sees the man taking his pleasure from him. Greg is an absolute vision, chest flushed red, constantly murmuring curses under his breath, cock standing upright. It shouldn’t affect Mycroft as much as it does, being used like that, but being able to give Greg everything like this makes his heart ache.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers reverently, and Greg’s eyes snap open, while he never loses his rhythm. “Take what you need from me. Take everything. I want to give you everything.”

Greg almost sobs as he moves his hands so they’re next to Mycroft’s head, and leans down so their foreheads touch. Mycroft brings his legs up, so that his feet are flat on the bed and starts pushing up, into Greg’s heat, meeting every single one of his movements.

“It’s been so long. I’ve wanted you for so long,” Greg sobs, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry… I can’t stop. I can’t make it last… It’s too good. You’re too good…”

Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg, making him unable to move, presses his face into the crook of his neck, then redoubles his efforts, driving up. Greg cries out, arms tightening around Mycroft in turn, fingernails digging into his back. His breathing is speeding up and he trembles in Mycroft’s arms. He whispers Mycroft’s name over and over and over… and then he convulses, screaming, a wet heat spreading between their bodies. Mycroft can feel Greg’s cock pulse against his skin and the sensation takes his breath away. It takes only a few more thrusts until he reaches the crest himself, clinging to Greg’s body as he empties himself into it.

In the silence that follows, Mycroft suddenly realises that Greg might’ve needed him even more than he needed this marvelous man. His chest swells with quiet pride as he feels Greg press wet kisses to his neck, mumbling endearments and adorations.

“Darling, are you alright?” he whispers.

“I love you, Mycroft. I’ve loved you for years. I never thought… oh god… I never thought you wanted me… could ever want someone like me. Please don’t send me away after this. Please don’t tell me this is a one time thing.”

Mycroft’s breath catches in his throat at Greg’s desperate tone. He slowly coaxes Greg out of his grasp, takes his face into both hands and looks into eyes filled with tears.

“I love you too, Greg. I will never let you go.”

If Greg cried himself to sleep in Mycroft’s arms, alcohol, emotions and relief mingling together to make him unable to stop, Mycroft will never tell. He will never bring it up again. For now, he just holds the man, who so miraculously loves a bastard like him, and promises himself that he’ll never let anything bad happen to Greg as long as he lives.

**Author's Note:**

> All cigar/alcohol combinations in this fic are really good. Please try them and let me know what you think! :D


End file.
